


Not So Lonely Cowboy

by feral_fake



Series: Deadeye McCree [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Deadeye (Overwatch), Kinda, Loneliness, Not Canon Compliant, Possession, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:47:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22870483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feral_fake/pseuds/feral_fake
Summary: A lonely young McCree finds (gets found by) a friend.
Series: Deadeye McCree [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643959
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Not So Lonely Cowboy

Jesse McCree was always a lonely child. He only had a few memories of his Pa, and even less of his Mama. When he was just a boy and his Mama died, his Pa had brought little Jesse along to a Deadlock meeting. There was no where else for the kid to be. A kid of six years has no right being left home alone.

That meeting turned out to be a blessing, in some sense of the word. Because one turned to two, and two turned to two dozen, before Jesse McCree was spending more time surrounded by gang members than classmates. And that meant, when his Pa didn't come back from a raid, that he still had a roof over his head.

The gang wasn't exactly happy about having a little brat to feed and watch over, but at only ten years old, the boy was starting to show an almost eerie affinity for weaponry. Knives fit in the boy's hands like they were made for him, and he never once flinched as he pulled a trigger. He was a shit shot, but he was just a kid. Though, with his Pa gone, they started training him up like a good little soldier.

No breakfast until he ran at least a mile. No lunch until his knives found the center of at least ten targets. No dinner unless he could shoot down ten bottles. Jesse slept hungry most nights. That didn't help him run his morning laps, either. But no matter how hard he tried, he just could not get the hang of shooting a gun.

Begging and praying did nothing for him. Practice did nothing for him. It seemed like Jesse McCree was destined to shoot wide and sleep hungry.

Jesse was the youngest around by at least ten years. Deadlock didn't pick up many kids, preferring skills to body count. They certainly weren't the parental figure type, either. It was clear to the boy from the beginning that they weren't taking care of him, they were just teachers. But the bad kind of teachers. Like Jesse's first grade teacher, who had made cutting remarks when Jesse missed two weeks of school as him and his Pa tried to pull their lives back together after the death of Jesse's Mama. The bitter old man told him that real men and boys would get over it, get back to work. Jesse was glad when his Pa started taking him to meetings and he didn't have to deal with the grumpy old teacher as much anymore. No matter how bad his teachers were, or would have been, being surrounded by no one but hardened criminals wasn't the best place for a child to be, even without the frequent starvation.

It was one of those nights, when the moon was high and full, the bugs were singing, and the coyotes were screaming, that Jesse McCree was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten an evening meal. It couldn't have been more than a week after his Pa was shot down. It was frustrating, for a child, to be so hungry and alone. He liked to pretend sometimes that the coyotes were his friends. He'd listen to them cry out to each other, hunting, searching, bonding, and he would pretend that he was like them. Part of a pack. A family.

The screams of the coyotes seemed closer than normal that night, but Jesse didn't worry about becoming pup chow. He knew they would never come close enough to cause harm. they never had before.

Jesse was laying flat on his back, staring up at the stars and silently willing the sharp pains in his stomach away, when he heard something. The soft sound of paws on sand, creeping up behind him. His heart dropped to his stomach, and he bolted up, snagging his knife and tightly gripping the hilt as he whirled to face the animal who was intruding on his solitude. But when his eyes fell on the coyote behind him, he knew that it was no animal. It's eyes were bright red, almost glowing, and trained intently on the young boy in front of it.

"Stay back," Jesse said, his voice shaky and betraying his fear. His hand was steady, however. He had too many years of training behind him to have an unsteady knife hand in the face of danger, no matter how afraid he was. Almost. The knife clattered to the ground with a sharp, metallic thud as the coyote started towards him, and began _speaking_.

"Jesse McCree. You don't need to fear me, Pup. I won't hurt you. Never you." The coyote's mouth stayed shut, but Jesse heard it speak all the same. The words were right inside his ears without having to fly through the air to get there. It's voice was deep and gentle, almost kind, but not enough to hide the sounds of age and raw _power_.

Growing up, Jesse's Mama and Pa weren't religious, or even superstitious. He didn't even have the faintest idea of what was going on. He couldn't even tell if he were awake or dreaming. (That's what he told himself, in the moment. The pain in his stomach was too sharp for it to be a dream instead of reality.) "What- who are you?" Jesse asked, his eyes wide and wet and glued to the creature in front of him.

The coyote cocked it's head to the side, and in Jesse's mind he couldn't help but compare it to a curious puppy. "I am your friend, Jesse McCree. I am your helper, your salvation. And you will, in turn, become mine." It stopped moving once Jesse's back hit the canyon/valley wall. It sat, whiskers twitching as it stared. "Others who have befriended me have called me many things, but i think that you will call me Deadeye."

The coyote blinked as it howled but the sound was wrong. It was a ghastly noise, and it seemed to strike Jesse's heart, making him lose his breath. And as Jesse noticed that now only one of the coyote's eyes were red, his head suddenly felt too cramped, like there was someone, some thing, else in his mind with him. He gasped, gripping his hair with one hand, and covering his mouth with the other so no one would hear his screams.

"What- fuck- what is this? Are you in my head?" Jesse asked, once he was sure he wouldn't scream. His voice was weak, whiny and shaky with his pain. It felt like he had four migraines stacked on top of each other, like there was an iron spike pushed through one ear and poking out the other.

When it spoke again, it wasn't just inside of Jesse's ears. It sounded like the voice was coming from the middle of his brain. "Oh, Pup, I'm not just in your head," it crooned. "I'm in your _soul_ , Jesse McCree. I'm your second half. I'll take care of you better than anyone else can. Better than anyone else _would_. Together, we can show them all just how strong you are, Jesse."

Jesse shook his head as much as he could without making himself dizzy. (It wasn't much.) "No. No, I don't know who- what you are. I don't want you. Get out!"

Deadeye chuckled, the horrid sound sending a shiver directly down Jesse's spine. "Oh, but I know you. I know all about you, and I'm not going anywhere. I know everything you've been, and everything you might be in the future. I can see all the paths you will and won't take, Jesse McCree. I want to make sure you take the right ones." It chuckled again, sounding slightly more amused this time. "You're going to be a fun one. This is all for my amusement, Pup."

The coyote blinked again, and this time, neither of its eyes were red. It wandered off, with none of the usual grace of a coyote. It stumbled over its own paws, shaking its head like there was something sticky in its ears that it was desperately trying to get out. It wobbled before suddenly collapsing, and he could see blood pouring out of its ears. Jesse had a sick feeling in his gut, and he knew that would happen to him if Deadeye left him.

"Well," Jesse said, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders. "In that case, lets have some fun, Partner."

-

The next morning, Jesse went straight for the shooting range. He didn't even look in the direction he usually took his morning run. The Boss started walking towards him, but Jesse just kept walking. His head was higher than it had ever been, and he was walking with more grace than a cat stalking its prey. He easily dodged the fist of the Boss, ducking under his arm without breaking his stride. He pulled his six shooter when he was one hundred yards away, taking a slow breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, there was a faint red haze, and everything was slower.

A smirk crossed Jesse's lips, and he was glad they had walked around together last night, or else the feeling of something else controlling his muscles would have scared the hell out of him. Deadeye hummed softly, and when they squeezed the trigger, they moved their index finger together.

One pull. Six bullets. Ten shattered beer bottles.

Jesse blinked the blood from his eyes, Deadeye crooning reassurances into their mind as he coughed up a spray of blood. Jesse turned his head, smirking confidently as his eyes met the Boss's. The Boss looked _t_ _errified_ , and Jesse had never felt happier. He tilted his head slightly, reminiscent of the coyote who had brought him his salvation only hours before. "I'll take my food now, Sir."

**Author's Note:**

> okay,, ive literally been trying to write this for like 3 years and this is the best that its going to get lmaoooo. im not even into this game or fandom anymore, i just needed to get this out of my head

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Finger on the Trigger, Devil in Your Eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300373) by [Kgdragoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kgdragoon/pseuds/Kgdragoon)




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